In Control
by Skeexikx
Summary: Tintin loses control of a situation and finds it very hard to deal with the aftermath. WARNING - Non-con, rape, death. Angst City. TintinXHaddock friendship. 10 chapter story.
1. Escape From Darkness

As always - Not making any filthy lucre with this. Don't own Tintin & Company - Moulinsart does.

The usual standard grammatical apology, any mistakes are due to fumble fingers, sheer blindness and complete disregard for the English language.

This was not the story I was originally going to upload next. But the muse hit me upside the head and said: write this first – NOW. And I said – ok, will do. Besides, it hurt and I didn't want the muse to start walloping me anymore.

Warning – RAPE, death, angst city. Big time. That's right. Not sure where this came from – time of the month or something…

But don't worry; I never descend so far that I can't get back up & out.

I'm a visual person and this story popped into my head when I had an image of Tintin stumbling along a dark corridor, covered in blood. Why Tintin was stumbling along covered in blood is something you'll just have to find out…

…

Tintin stumbled along the dark corridor back to where Captain Haddock was waiting anxiously for him to return. He could just make out the form of his friend, hands clenched on the bars.

Reaching the man's cell, he tried to fit the key into the lock with shaking hands. Hearing the gasp from the older man on the other side of the bars, he glanced up.

"Lad…? Are you hurt…?" the Captain gestured toward him.

Tintin brushed his hand against his sweater and regarded the stain on his palm. "It's okay." He replied curtly. Finally jamming the key into the lock, he twisted it viciously and unlocked the cell door.

Haddock was outside in a moment, his arms reaching around Tintin's shoulders, offering both comfort and support, as the younger man was swaying unsteadily.

"Lad, the blood…"

"Not now, please. Archie, let's just go. Please, I need to get out of here." He pleaded.

For a moment he thought the older man would argue, but then started to turn back the way Tintin had came. "Yes, yes, my boy. Let's get you out of here."

"No, not that way."

Seeing Haddock's look of confusion, Tintin stammered out a reply. "I…heard voices; I don't want to run into anyone, any of the guards…those guards…"

"All right, but what if that's the only way out?"

"Then…I guess we'll have to deal with it, but please, let's look the other way, okay?"

Tintin bit his lip, hoping the man would agree. He was so close to losing what little control he had left. He mustn't lose control. He just mustn't. Closing his eyes as the Captain nodded, he swayed a little from relief.

Turning once more, they began making their halting way down the stone hallway, passing empty cell after cell. Tintin used the bars as support as he stumbled along, feeling his friend's arm around his waist, holding him up.

Slowly they moved through twisting, turning corridors, lit only by an occasional high window, a window that showed only moon lit sky.

At first they thought they had hit another one of the interminable dead ends, but Tintin's sharper eyes noticed the shape of a door etched into the surface. Holding his breath and praying, he tried key after key on the ring he had taken from the guard's chamber.

The second to the last key fit in, and after working it back and forth it eventually turned reluctantly. Tintin leaned against the wall as the larger man put his weight behind the door and shoved it open. An even darker corridor showed, but they both breathed in the cool, fresh air that streamed from it.

Once more they stumbled on, hearing their shoes splash through water or mud or worse, tripping over or breaking through roots that had found their way into the subterranean tunnel. More than once they had to squeeze through tight spots where the walls and/or ceiling had crumbled.

It was with great relief that they burst out into clean night air, the sensation of space around them refreshing. They stood blinking, waiting for their eyes to adapt to even this meager light.

Woods surrounded them, the landscape dropping away. Looking back they could make out the high stone walls of the prison. It was quiet, no sound emerging to alert them that their escape had been discovered. Both of them heaved shared sighs of relief.

Once more the Captain wrapped his arm around Tintin's waist and they began to move throughout the forest, seeking only to get away.

Tintin was stumbling more and more, both from exhaustion but also because of the pain that wracked his body. He struggled to maintain control, he must maintain control, but it was just too much.

He didn't feel a thing as he sagged to the ground, nor felt the older man pick him up carefully and carry him away. Nor did he hear a little later the sound of a dog barking joyously.

…


	2. The Vow

Oh my! Whatever could have happened to our boy and his best friend...

...

Opening his eyes, Tintin regarded the small room he found himself in. Very primitive, with just a few odds and ends. The cot he was lying on was the most modern thing in the stone and wattle hut.

Turning onto his back, he winced as he experienced pain lancing through him. His breaths began to come faster and faster and he clutched at the metal sides of the cot. A small moan escaped his lips and he bit them to keep from crying out.

Control. He must maintain control.

Hearing a noise, he looked up fearfully to see something – no, someone - bending over him. He reflexively raised his fists at the same time cringing back.

"Easy, easy, easy, my lad. It's just your ol' friend the Captain. And here's another friend, overjoyed to see you."

Tintin cried out with delight as Snowy leaped onto the bed and into his arms, licking every where the dog could reach while his small body wriggled with delight. The cropped tail whipped back and forth.

"Oh, Snowy, you found us! Good boy, good dog."

Looking from his small companion's happy brown eyes into the concerned blue eyes of his larger companion, Tintin swallowed. "Where are we, Captain? Did we get away?"

"Aye lad, we're safe. We're in a small village some miles away. There's no love lost between the villagers and the prison, so there's no worry that we'll be turned in or found."

Closing his eyes as relief spread through him, he stiffened a little as he felt a hand upon his arm.

"Lad..."

His eyelids snapped open and he peered at the other man with intensity, his normally clear grey eyes stormy.

"I'll be okay, Captain. I've survived this. I'm the victor. Not them."

Haddock stared at him for a long moment. "All right my boy. God know's ya've gone through hell. But just know – I'm here for you. You do know that, right?"

"Yes, Captain…I do know that. Please. I'll be all right." Tintin struggled to keep his composure. He could feel himself wanting to loosen, to fling himself into the other man's arms and just cry and sob and shake out all his fears along with both his physical and psychological pain.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He had taken a vow walking along those dark corridors. Never again would he lose control of any situation. Ever.

Hearing a noise he looked up to see a woman standing there with a bowl in one hand and a crudely carved spoon in the other. With the Captain's help, he managed to find a sitting position that didn't put too much pressure on extremely sensitive areas.

Accepting the provision from the older woman, he couldn't help but see the expression of pity on the wrinkled face. He scowled.

Waiting for the woman to leave, he whispered at the other man, his tone harsh. "Does she…know?"

"Well, aye lad. She helped clean you up. Your clothes are right there on the stool, she washed those up, too."

Tintin suddenly realized he was wearing nothing but a home spun shift, the rest of him bare. He could feel his jaw tense. "Does anyone else know?"

"No lad, not that I know of. I don't exactly speak the language, and there were some of the occupants about when we first stumbled into this little village. When I indicated that we had come from the prison, they spit on the ground and raised their fists in the direction we came. They brought us here, she and I took care of ya and that's about all I know."

Spooning the thick but somewhat tasteless broth into his mouth, Tintin relaxed a little. A day, maybe more and then they could leave this place. True, it would mean leaving his latest mystery unsolved, but considering the consequences that he had so recently suffered, it was for the best. Let the authorities deal with the corrupt prison officials and their plan to use the prison as a base for slave labor.

He just wanted to get back home, get back to normality, get his life back in order. Gain control over everything again.

And not see anyone look at him like that woman had. He didn't want pity. He didn't deserve it.

Looking up, he noticed his friend observing him, but at least it wasn't the same look the woman had given him. Concern and anxiety, yes, but that he could deal with.

"Captain, do you think we can leave tomorrow, make our way back to the capital and then go home. I think I've had enough of this…adventure."

Haddock leaned forward and smiled comfortingly. "Yes, of course lad. Anything you say."

Tintin lay back and smiled. He had controlled the situation. Everything would be fine.

…


	3. Leaving it All Behind

Hmmm. Tintin's trying to deal with something, but what can it be?

...

Tintin sat in the airport and found he had become very nervous in crowds. It wasn't the noise or the hustle and bustle nor was it all the people around him that upset him.

It was the people behind him that made his heart race.

He kept imagining someone grabbing him, holding him down. Hurting him. And what if…

No. He mustn't think these thoughts. Control. He must maintain control. That was over, done with. He was leaving this country and he would never return. And then he could forget.

It had taken them three days to make their way out of the rural countryside and back to the somewhat less medieval capital, a capital that had an airport that would take them to a larger airport and from there connect to a flight that would take him blessedly to home.

But before they could take that blessed flight it had taken them another couple of days to talk with the authorities, give them what little evidence they had and then convince the officials to take the necessary steps. All though Haddock suggested it, he had refused to tell the authorities about his injuries. If his information wasn't enough, then too bad. He wasn't going to be a sideshow for anyone.

Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm himself down, he glanced around the somewhat busy terminal. No one was looking at him strangely, no one was leering at him, no one was pointing his way. He was just an anonymous traveler, with a white dog at his side, and a larger, bearded man accompanying him.

At least his friend was no longer asking him any questions. Tintin had gotten quite angry the other night at the hotel as the Captain had tried to get him to talk about the experience.

"No Captain, I do not want to talk about this, I just want to forget about it, all right!" he had ended up shouting.

And then had stormed to his room, slammed the door and had stood on the other side, fists clenched as he tried to regain control. He had felt hot tears sliding down the back of his throat and threatening to burst from behind his tightly closed eyelids.

Slowly he had calmed himself and when he'd heard a small whine on the other side of the door, had eased the door open and let Snowy in. Giving the dog a reassuring pat or two (even though there was a part of him that wanted to scoop up the small furry body and hold it tight), he'd then began his usual nightly ritual.

And had lain there tossing and turning most of the night, remembering, remembering…

Fear, pain, horror, anguish, rage…

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard their flight announced over the speaker, and began the preparations to board the plane and finally depart.

Once in the air and seeing the landscape recede behind him, he allowed just a minute fraction of himself to relax a bit. He was still in control.

...


	4. Turning Away

When one tries to hang on to everything, you often let more important things slip away...

...

It had been weeks since they had returned and Tintin could count on one hand how many times he'd left Marlinspike Hall.

One of those times had been to see a doctor even though Tintin had insisted he was fine, healing nicely, the pain almost gone. But Haddock had been extremely adamant and Tintin had seen how angry and concerned the man was. More out of the need to ease his friend's anxiety than anything else, Tintin had agreed to go.

Once there he had to practically bite through every knuckle to get through not only the physical exam, but answer the doctor's questions concerning the nature of his injuries.

Tintin had given very short and at times vague answers, claiming he hadn't been conscious through most of it. All a lie, he remembered every moment. Before, during…and after.

When he had dressed and the doctor had returned, the man confirmed that he was healing well, the injuries were not permanent, and any scarring would be minimal. He had then given Tintin two prescriptions and a card. The prescriptions were for pain medication and sleeping pills. The card was for a therapist.

Tintin had filled the two, rarely used either and had thrown the card away. He didn't need any of them; he had everything under control, after all.

Once he was back home, he claimed to be spending his time catching up on his reading, writing and any correspondence he had. He intimated that he was doing some re-organizing of his stories and articles, perhaps beginning a memoir of some sort.

And every time the Captain tried to get him to go out somewhere, he had a very convenient excuse as to why not to.

Tintin was aware the older man was becoming concerned with Tintin's lack of interest of anything outside of Marlinspike's walls, but had managed to avoid any confrontation by either literally locking himself in his room (explaining that he was working on a story and didn't want to be interrupted while he was trying to get his thoughts down on paper) or by leaving the manor entirely and just wandering around the grounds, Snowy at his heels.

He took great pleasure in the solitude as he explored the acres of land that surrounded the estate, finding a shady place when warm or a sunny spot when it was cool and just sitting there watching the clouds, or the trees swaying in the wind. The only noise he heard were the birds and insects vying for attention, the only scents the smell of clean fresh air, the sweetness of flowers or the savory odors of herbal plants along with plain old dirt.

But he couldn't avoid the man forever.

The morning had started as any other, Tintin waking early so as to shower quickly and then rush downstairs and grab something to eat, usually taking it with him back to his room. He was becoming quite skilled at timing his appearances so as to not coincide with any of the other inhabitants.

When he entered the kitchen however, he found the Captain sitting at the breakfast table, fully dressed with his hat on.

"Oh! Good morning, Captain. You're up early." He replied, his tone light.

"Aye lad, going into town, coming with? You've only been to the library a couple times since we got back and I know how you love to explore all those dusty shelves."

Frowning, Tintin shook his head. "Sorry, would love to, but too busy." He grabbed a plate, buttered some toast, poured himself a glass of juice and made to escape.

"Lad…you can't stay hidden away for the rest of your life."

Tintin froze, then turned toward the older man, a soft smile on his lips. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, I'm just very busy. You know how I get when I have a story to write, can't be dragged away by wild horses." He explained quite reasonably.

Haddock looked at him from under his brows, his expression beginning to darken. "You know very well what I mean. Barely catch a glimpse of you, when I do you're running out the door. Tell me, when was the last time we had any meal together? You don't come down for breakfast, you're never seen at lunch and you're locked back in your room again during dinner."

Taking a deep breath, the Captain continued. "We used to sit together after dinner lad, reading before bed. Not once since we've been back have you done that. That's not normal for you, my boy, not normal."

Feeling his heart beginning to race, Tintin took a deep breath. He must remain composed, must not lose his cool.

"I'm fine, Captain. Like I said, just very busy…" he began but was instantly cut off as the older man abruptly leaned forward, his expression not just concerned but angry.

"Are you? Is that really true? When was the last time you looked at yourself, my boy? You're pale, have been since we got back. There're still dark circles under your eyes and I swear you've lost weight. You are not fine, son."

Tintin closed his eyes for a moment trying to center his whirling thoughts and calm his wildly beating heart.

"Captain. I am fine, I swear it." Again a lie. Tintin was quite aware how haggard he looked. He rarely got more than a couple of hours of sleep a night, knowing that he would dream. Not so much about the actual events, though sometimes there was that, but more about leering faces, peering at him, laughing, faces that turned ugly. And one face in particular…

He had tried the sleeping pills, but for one thing they had left him feeling uncommonly groggy the next day and for the other he did not want to become addicted to them. Dependent upon them. Allow them be in control, instead of him.

He started as he heard the Captain slap a hand against the table. "Dammit lad…"

"No." Tintin announced very sternly, turning toward the older man, his own face darkening, body tensing.

"What…" Haddock ground to a stop, surprised by the intensity of the younger man's expression and body language.

"Not a lad. I'm not just a boy, nor am I a kid. And certainly not after what happened. I would appreciate it very much, Captain, if you would please address me by my name, instead of treating me like some child."

He glared at the older man for a moment, taking in the Captain's extremely shocked look.

"I...I see…if that's how you want it…, Tintin." Haddock stammered.

"It is. Enjoy your time in town, Captain."

Turning on his heel, Tintin left the room. He knew that he had stunned his friend, but Tintin had to maintain control. He just had to.

...


	5. Face to Face

Oh Tintin, what are you doing to yourself? And your friendship?

...

Tintin was aware that his normally easy relationship with his best friend had become stilted. Whenever they met (which was rare), the older man made sure to address him only as Tintin, nothing more.

He knew he had hurt the man. The Captain regarded the younger man practically as a son, and calling someone lad was second nature to his Scottish heritage.

Hating himself for the strain that had built up between them, but unable to find any way to ease that damage without possibly bending too far and losing command over himself, Tintin managed to avoid facing both the man and the problem.

The Captain had seemed to find other avenues in which to fill any void by beginning a massive renovation of the rarely used portraiture gallery - bringing in first designers, then contractors and then finally the workers themselves. Haddock had been under foot of them from the very beginning, making sure they knew exactly what he wanted – even if he himself didn't really have a clue how the hallway should be decorated.

Tintin had made sure to make his self scarce the entire time, even thinking of going back to his old apartment. But the thought of packing and then driving into the crowded town, having to deal with all those people about him, and then having to go out into the public for food and other essentials filled Tintin with absolute dread.

Finally the carpenters and the woodworkers and the plasterers and the wall-paperers and the painters left, the hallway having been renovated within an inch of its life. Didn't really look that much different, but everything was now brand spanking new.

Rather curious to see how it had turned out, Tintin approached the long room. Just as he began to open one of the double doors leading into the hallway, he heard a crash and the sound of someone crying out in pain.

Eyes wide with concern, he flung open the door and rushed inside. Just a few feet away stood the Captain; hammer in one hand and a fallen picture at his feet.

"Captain, are you all right?" Tintin asked anxiously.

"Aye la…er, Tintin. Just hanging this here picture and it fell off the wall just as I got it up. Crashed on my head."

So saying, the older man turned.

Tintin gasped. There on the man's cheek was a small cut, a trickle of blood running from it.

Clasping his hands to his mouth, he took a shaky step backward. He could feel himself trembling; feel the gorge rising in his throat…

Whipping around he ran down the hall, hoping to get to a bathroom in time. He didn't make it.

Falling to his knees, he could only brace himself as his stomach heaved over and over until there was nothing left of the light breakfast he'd eaten earlier. And even then his body kept trying to force anything from it.

He felt hands clutching at him from behind and he flinched. "NO! Don't, don't touch me, please…"

"Tintin, lad, what is it, what's wrong? Thunderin' typhoons boy, are you sick, ill? Do I need to call a doctor?" Under the circumstances, Tintin wasn't going to call the man out on referring to him as lad or boy. He really didn't care.

"No, please - no doctor. I'm all right, just need to…go back to my room, lay down. Be all right…"

"Tintin, you're shaking like a leaf, pale as a ghost. In fact, you looked like you'd seen one, but you were looking at me, lad." Haddock continued - his voice soft and pleading, "Please Tintin, I'm worried about you. Tell me what's wrong; I can't help if I don't know…"

"Please Captain, I'll be okay. I just have to maintain control; this isn't your fault, its mine."

"Fault, what fault? I was hanging a picture and it fell, how can that be your fault, for blistering barnacle's sake?!"

Tintin was silent for a long time, just crouched there on the carpet. He could smell the acrid scent of his recent sickness.

"This is my fault, throwing up. I'll clean it…"

"Being sick on the rug isn't a problem either and I'll get it cleaned. And if it doesn't, I'll buy a new one." Tintin heard the older man take a deep breath.

"Look at me son, something's wrong with you. You aren't dealing with what happened and don't shake your head at me. I'm not blind. Please lad, I love you. This is tearing me apart, seeing you like this. Please, just sit up and look at me. I want to help."

Tintin felt his breath hitch in his chest. Shaking his head from side to side, he remained as he was, crouched over, arms hugging his chest, head turned away. He could feel one of the Captain's hands rubbing up and down his back, the other gently gripping his arm.

"Can't…" he whispered.

"Can't what?"

"Can't look at you…"

"Why ever not, lad?" Haddock responded, his voice confused.

"Your face…"

"Now whatever can be wrong with my face, same one I've always had. You've seen it a million times." The Captain replied, purposely humorous.

"No. There's…you're…hurt." Tintin replied. He was beginning to shake again. He felt the hand on his shoulder removed, heard the sound of it rub against the older man's beard.

"What, this little scratch? Why lad, it's nothing, you've seen far worse." Haddock replied reasonably.

Tintin moaned a little. "It's…bloody. Your…face, blood, too much…my fault, my fault…"

"How…all right, that's it. We're getting to the bottom of this. Up you go, lad." As the Captain spoke, Tintin found himself being gathered up into the older man's arms and carried down the hallway.

He protested the entire way, trying to insist that he'd be fine, he just needed a bit of time and he'd be back in control again. But Haddock didn't say a word, just continued to stride down the hallway, up the stairs and then into Tintin's own bedroom.

Placing the young man gently on the bed, he sat beside him and regarded Tintin gravely. "I don't care how long this takes, what excuses you come up with but this ends now, my boy. If you don't talk to me, then I'm dragging you to that therapist you never saw by that tuft of ginger. Your choice, son."

Seeing the absolute conviction in his friend's eyes, Tintin began to remember how it had begun, recall how he had lost control of the situation, and with it practically his sanity.

...


	6. Descent

Tintin recalls the horrific events leading to his descent into darkness...

...

Tintin had befriended a young man who had told him a horrific story of his country's villagers being forced into slave labor by a corrupt prison warden. Following a lead, he and the Captain had arrived in the far off country, a small minor barony deep in the central European Mountains.

One thing led to another, including finding the baron having been blackmailed to look the other way, and they soon found themselves a prisoner of the warden, a wizened old man whose cruel features had glared at them when they refused to co-operate.

Throwing them into adjoining cells on the darkest, deepest level there was in the moldy old prison, the warden had stormed away, vowing to get them to talk in the morning.

One of the guards had hesitated before following after, leering at Tintin, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips.

Both of them had settled down best they could in the dark, damp cells, no mattresses on the rope beds. They had each tried the cell doors numerous times, trying to pick the locks using anything from the Captain's comb (it broke), to Tintin's belt buckle (wasn't long enough).

Finally they had sat down on the cold stone floor next to each other, the cell bars separating them, trying to soak up as much warmth and comfort from each other as possible.

They were both dozing when their ears had caught the sound of the far away door - the one leading into the guard's chambers - opening. As one they stood up, hands tightening into fists and stances tensing.

Hard booted footsteps echoed and five guards appeared from the gloom, one of them being the man who had ogled Tintin earlier.

Tintin could still recall the chill that had gone up his spine as they stood in front of his cell door, smirking and pointing at him. They had looks in their eyes he'd never seen before.

The next thing he knew they were inside his cell and though he had fought with all the strength and skill he had, it wasn't enough.

He soon found himself held down, the guards plucking and pulling at his clothes, especially his trousers, until he was naked. Even his shoes had been ripped off, thrown somewhere about the cell. Voices were shouting with glee and excitement. Except one voice.

Tintin could barely catch a glimpse of Captain Haddock as the man pressed against the bars, arms stretched out, face black with fury. His friend kept screaming at them to leave him alone, to get off him, dear god get off him, he'd tear them limb from limb…

But they only jeered back at the older man as they held Tintin securely on his hands and knees, one at each arm and leg. Tintin suddenly realized he didn't know where the fifth one was at…

Until the pain lanced through him. And even then he didn't want to admit to what was happening, only that something had penetrated him from behind and that it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

One by one they took their turn. And when they were done they had made sure to kick the huddled ball that sobbed piteously on the cold, hard floor. Laughing they strolled back down the corridor, making sure to announce to both him and the Captain what a fine little fuck the pretty red-head was.

He had lain there for some time, arms wrapped around his chest and legs drawn up tight as pain wracked him. Pain and anguish and horror. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. No one had ever done this to him, no one had ever given any indication that they were going to.

But these guards had. They had held him down and violated him, piercing him with fingers and…and…

Tintin had moaned, his chest heaving while tears ran down his face. He knew what they had done. Knew exactly what had happened to him. Wanted it all to go away. Wanted the darkness that swirled around him to swallow him whole, sink deep, die within that void.

One thing kept him from doing so.

"Lad…?"

…


	7. Step by Step

Further recollections of something Tintin would rather forget...

...

Tintin found the strength from that word to drag his conscious self back from blessed oblivion. He grasped onto the knowledge that he was not alone, that there was someone with him that hurt just as bad, was just as horrified. Someone who could give comfort.

Slowly he pushed himself around until he could face his friend. He had managed to calm his sobs somewhat, but as he beheld the Captain's countenance, began to cry again.

Haddock was on his knees, one hand clenched around the bar so hard that the entire skin was white from the bones jutting from the tight flesh. The other hand was stretched out toward Tintin, the hand entreating. But it was the tears that were streaming down the other man's face that caught at Tintin, making his heart lurch within his chest.

He crawled toward that hand, felt it clasp his shoulder, help him to slide closer. Finally he was within the reach of both arms and he lay there, pressed as close to the bars as physically possible and just sobbed, the Captain both sobbing with him and trying to reassure him at the same time. Tintin could feel the other man's hands rubbing and soothing his back, cupping his head, gripping him firmly.

Gradually they both calmed each other, and slowly Tintin began to climb a bit higher out of the pit he'd found himself in.

Sitting up a little, he had given the Captain a very watery smile and received one in return. Feeling a shiver take hold of him, he realized that the cold had sunk to his very bones, every inch of skin covered in goose bumps.

With assistance and encouragement from the Captain, he had managed to crawl over and grab what clothes he could reach, with the exception of one shoe that had been flung to land by the cell door – a distance that seemed like miles.

Again with the older man's help, he began to dress himself, feeling more human with each piece of clothing he put on. Even his tears were beginning to dry.

He couldn't sit, but knelt beside the Captain and began to plan their next step. Only their options were quite limited. They really weren't sure if the warden would care, let alone take any disciplinary action. And though Snowy was loose somewhere, there was no one the dog could go to and get help.

It was with great reluctance that they decided to wait for morning and hope that some salvation would present itself.

Tintin had glanced around the meager confines of his cell and his gaze fell on his lonely shoe, sitting by itself.

At least he could do that – get his shoe back and be his whole entire self again. He began to pull himself up the bars, feeling the Captain's hands supporting him until he was standing on very shaky legs. He recalled the Captain questioning him about the necessity of getting the shoe and responding quite determinedly that he wanted the shoe, he was going to get the shoe and nothing was going to stop him.

Bar by bar he moved toward the front of the cell, Haddock beside him the entire time. He had swayed with each step and more than once he'd started to crumple, but had only grasped the bars tighter, bit his lip and kept going.

When he reached the corner, he stood for some time gathering his strength about him, knowing the Captain wouldn't be there to lend his support. But the other man never stopped giving Tintin his vocal support, encouraging and applauding every tiny movement the youth made as he lurched along until he reached the cell door, getting closer to his shoe.

Both of them cried out as the cell door swung wide, overbalancing Tintin and sending him tumbling out into the corridor. He'd lain there stunned for a bit, then heaved himself onto his hands and knees, turned and stared at the Captain.

The guards had forgotten to close it securely.

…


	8. The Monster

In which Tintin tells all...

...

Bringing himself back to the present, he could feel the Captain's arms around him once more, the large hands gently rubbing and soothing him. He suddenly realized his face was wet, his body trembling while he rocked back and forth.

Burying his face into the man's chest, Tintin began to sob. And with each shuddering breath he took in, he kept trying to say something.

"My…my…fa…my…fau…"

"Ok, it's ok, my boy, it's ok, Let it out, that's it." Over and over Haddock kept reassuring the crying youth in his arms.

"No…not ok, my…fault. Everything…"

"Lad, it is not nor has it ever been your fault as to what happened. Those guards were animals, absolute animals, lad. They forced you, they overpowered you. If either of us could have done anything, we would have. You know that." Hearing the man take a shaky breath of his own, Tintin tried to press closer but he was already up against the man as tight as he could get. "God knows, my boy, I tried to tear those bars out with my bare hands, tried to press myself between them to get to you. They would have been bloody lumps if I could have…"

"STOP! Please, don't…" Tintin cringed, his body shaking even more.

"What? Lad, what is it?"

Tintin huddled down even more, his eyes tightly clenched, his hands fisted in the older man's coat.

"Know…that they were the ones to blame…for hurting me. It was after…"

"After?" After when, Tintin?" Haddock queried anxiously. "After we got out? Are you still worried that we left without bringing those bashi-bazouk's to justice? There was no way you were in any shape to continue adventuring, lad, surely you know that, too?"

Nodding, Tintin couldn't help the moan that escaped. He wanted to tell, but he also didn't want anyone to know. Know how he had lost control. But there was some small bit of sanity left within him that told him that this was his Captain there with him and the man had never, ever turned away.

Taking a deep breath, he sat up a little, but didn't raise his head up from where it was pressed securely against the older man's chest.

"Not that…either. After the cell door opened, remember? And I made my way to the guard's chamber?"

"Aye, I had asked you to wait, to conserve your strength, that we could find some way to surprise them in the morning. But you had that look in your eye, and you were determined."

Tintin had been determined. He wanted them out of there as much if not more than he had wanted his shoe. He slowly began to describe what happened after he left the Captain standing alone, waiting anxiously for him to return.

From somewhere he had found the strength to make his way along the cells until he had reached the door and had waited a long time with his ear pressed against the cold, metal studded wooden surface, trying to make out any sound from the other side. His hands had clutched the sturdy rope they had made by tying together the cords from off the cots.

Satisfied that there was no sound of the other room being occupied, and buoyed by the knowledge that if there was any one on the other side they certainly wouldn't be expecting any one to come crashing in, he pulled at the door knob.

He never gave a thought to it being locked.

Sinking down in abject misery, he pondered his next step. His eyes widened as he heard the knob begin to turn. Standing up quickly, he placed himself behind the door as it began to swing open. Raising his fist, he waited for whoever it was to move into a position in which he could attack.

A tall thin figure appeared and Tintin had wasted no time in bringing his fist down effectively, knocking out the man. Glancing into the room and noting with relief that it was empty, he turned back to the unconscious guard.

He sighed with relief again as he turned the man over and found it wasn't anyone who had attacked him. Using the rope, he quickly tied the man up and dragged him over to one of the empty cells. Searching every pocket, he frowned as he came up empty.

Returning to the chamber, he slipped inside and began to search for keys to their cell. Just as he noticed a likely cabinet, the other door to the room began to swing open.

Tintin froze as a large figure entered and closed the door behind him. As this new guard turned, Tintin gasped. It was the first man who had assaulted him, the man who had stared at him…

"And then what, Tintin?" Haddock prompted, as the youth had sat silent for quite some time, still rocking back and forth.

"And then…then… I grabbed something… I must have. I don't know what – a stick or club or…something and…I hit him with it."

"Good for you."

"No, please…listen." Tintin raised his head up and looked directly at the Captain, his eyes imploring.

"I…lost control. I kept hitting him, over and over. That's what all the blood was from, remember? From him. Oh, God, Captain…there was nothing left, I kept hitting him again and again until…there was no face anymore."

"Ohhh, Tintin, my lad..., that's why..."

Tintin turned away and buried his face into his hands. "I…murdered him. I'm a…murderer. I killed him. I wanted him dead and I kept hitting him until he was dead and then…I…kept hitting."

As he sat there huddled into himself, he once more began to speak. "That's what I'm at fault for, for losing control. For allowing myself to…to…hate so much, want to hurt so much…" He began to sob again. "That's not me, I'm not a killer. But I…let…myself…become one."

Throwing his head back he wailed loudly, "How can I face the world, knowing I've become something so horrible…"

…


	9. The Whole Truth

Tntin learns three truths...

...

Once more he was grabbed hold of, cradled into strong arms that began to rock him back and forth, all while a rough voice sought to sooth him with tender sounds.

"Hush, oh hush my boy, oh Tintin lad, hush, hush…"

Tintin continued to weep, his small frame shaking by the strength of the sobs that tore out of him.

"Listen to me, are ya listenin' to me? Come on, lad, there's strength in ya still, I know there is. Settle down now, I'm here, you're okay."

Grasping hold of the older man's coat, he held on as if his very life depended upon it. Gradually he began to calm himself somewhat. Control himself. Of course. He must be in control.

"Tintin? Son? There ya go, easy, easy. Going to be all right now, ya hear? I'm with ya now, not going to let ya go."

Snuggling a little closer, he took a deep yet very shaky breath and tried to center himself.

"Yes…I…hear you."

"Okay, good. Now look, if I could have I would have gladly killed each and every one for what they did to you. I still want to go back and rip them to pieces. But getting you to safety and staying here with you as you tried to deal with it was my priority." Tintin felt his body rise and fall as the Captain took a deep breath. "You had every right being enraged. You are not a murderer, so get that through that ginger haired head of yours. Ya didn't go in there planning on committing mayhem. You reacted, laddie. Dear Lord, the man could have, probably would have killed you instead."

Sniffing, Tintin sat up a little, but still kept his head down. "I understand that, I do. And part of it was in self defense, but most…of it was…because…I'd lost control."

"Ohhhh, son. I know you pride yourself on being on top of things, making sure you're in command of all circumstances, but there are times in life when ya just can't be. Please laddie, don't beat yourself up over this. Stop trying to be perfect."

Tintin winced. "I'm not trying to be perfect. I… just didn't want to be…less." Lowering his voice to a whisper, he continued. " And…and I don't want anyone else to think I'm anything… less."

He heard the older man gasp. Feeling himself pulled up he found himself looking into blazing blue eyes. "LESS! Great thunderin typhoons, boy! How anyone could ever think of you as less is…is…why that's just…I can't…" Blustering to a stop, the Captain continued to glare at him. Tintin stared back, his body frozen and his face wary.

The other man's dark countenance softened immediately. He reached out one hand and stroked Tintin's cheek, began to brush away the remaining tears. As Tintin continued to gaze at the man, he realized the other's eyes were just as wet; the cheeks just as stained with shed tears.

"Oh! Archie…I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you…" Tintin wanted to sink down onto the bed. How had he been so selfish? Of course his friend was still suffering as well the after affects of the tragedy that had befallen them both.

He had been so wrapped up in trying not to let anything affect him that he had not only locked himself away, but had locked his best friend away as well.

Throwing his arms around the Captain, it was Tintin's turn to utter soothing words. "I'm sorry, please, I'll be okay, I will. I know that now, because I have you. I've always had you, you're there for me, right beside me."

"Aye lad, I am with you. And always will be, I promise you that." Tintin heard the man sniff loudly. "Now, sit up a bit, need to make sure you understand completely, okay?"

Tintin sat up and regarded his friend, who gazed into his eyes with complete conviction.

"Now, first of all, you – are – not – a – murderer. Understood? Don't just nod at me; I want to hear you say it."

"All right Archie." Tintin took a deep breath. "I am not a murderer." Some small part of him, very deep inside of him seemed to unwind.

"Precisely. You killed a man, but not because you planned for him to die. Correct?"

Glancing away, Tintin began to nod and catching the look the older man gave him, spoke slowly. "Yes, I did kill a man, and yes I didn't plan on it. But I didn't stop myself either."

"Tell me something, Tintin. Are you happy about it?"

"NO! Not at all. Horrified about it, I have nightmares about it." He declared.

"Good! Er…not about the nightmares, and we'll see what we can do about them, my lad. But it is a good thing you're troubled about killing someone, even if he did deserve it. Means you are not the awful person you think you've become. If you were happy about it, even proud, there'd be a problem."

"I think I understand. But you were willing to kill them."

"Well that was different…well, that is…well, maybe not. But I was angry, so very angry at the time, still am. Yes, I wanted to hurt them. And I wasn't the one bearing the brunt of their actions. Only thing I could do was watch…"

"Yes Captain. If things had been the other way, if I had to just stand by and not be able to help you if you were being harmed…I'd….I'd, oh Archie. How much that must have hurt! I couldn't stand it if I couldn't come to your aid!"

"Aye." The Captain replied, his voice gruff and his eyes far away. "Wanted to tear down the walls, tear them apart. Wanted to hear them scream..."

Giving himself a shake, the older man continued. "But we got away, didn't we lad? We're safe and sound, together, right?"

Sitting up straighter Tintin managed a smile. "Right!"

"Good again, now – second thing you need to get straight. You – will – never – be – any – less. Not to anyone. And certainly not to me."

Tintin's closed his eyes as tears threatened to stream down his face again, and his chest first constricted and then immediately swelled from the emotion he had seen in his friend's eyes. Pride. Acceptance. Understanding. And above all – sheer unadulterated love.

Another part of his mind, heart and soul that had been locked tight broke free.

"Say it for me, lad, okay?" The Captain whispered softly.

Swallowing his tears back, Tintin straightened his shoulders. "I am not anything less than I've ever been."

"And never will be any less, either, got that?"

"Yes, Archie, I've got that."

"Very good, now lad…OH! Here I've been calling you just about anything but Tintin." The Captain began to look a bit sheepish. "Ya pretty much told me in no uncertain…umph."

Holding his fingers to the older man's lips, Tintin smiled back just as sheepishly. "I'm sorry about that, I was wrong, I really didn't mean it. Please – call me lad, laddie, boy and my son all you want. I insist." He saw the man blink rapidly a few times.

Clearing his throat, the Captain continued. "As you wish, my dear boy. Now then and I want you to sit up and face me. This is the most important one yet, you got me?"

Loathe to leave the comfort of the arms that were holding him, Tintin reluctantly rose and turned toward his friend, facing him directly.

"Ok now. Listen closely. You ready?" Seeing Tintin nod, the Captain placed both of his hands on Tintin's shoulders. "You – can't – be – in – control – of – everything. Wait! Not done yet. Nor – can - you – fault – yourself – for – things – that – happen – outside – of – your - control. See, told you this was a big one. And I mean it, lad."

Sitting there silently, Tintin felt his thoughts go round and round. He knew the truth of it, of course he did. But if he couldn't be in control of everything, then there was no way he could be in command of his own self. And what if he lost that control again? What if he hurt someone else, someone innocent? Or – heaven forbid, somebody he cared about…

Shaking his head, he tried to pull away. But the hands wouldn't let him. He brought up his hands to push himself free, to leap off the bed and run, run away, run far away.

"Stop lad."

He froze. Oh God. He had lost control, hadn't he?

Feeling his mouth open he began to wail. Except no sound emerged.

"Stop it, right now! Tintin!" Hands grabbed hold of him and began to shake him. And then reached around him and gathered him in close.

As he was once more soothingly rocked into some aspect of calmness, Tintin tried to explain.

"You..see? Wasn't thinking, wasn't…in control. Oh, Archie, what am I do to?"

"What are we to do, you mean? We're in this together, remember?" Tintin gave a shaky nod. "Okay, this isn't going to be solved over night, my boy. This is going to take time. Tell me, who am I to you?"

Frowning, Tintin answered the obvious. "You're Captain Archibald Haddock."

"More to it than that, lad."

"Oh! My friend, my best friend."

"Aye, there you go. Who are you to me?"

"Your friend. A good one, I hope."

"Oh hush, best one anyone could ask for. Are you there for me as I am to you?"

"Yes."

"You trust me?"

"Completely!"

"Have we or have we not weathered every storm, faced down foes, solved the unsolvable?"

Smiling, Tintin relaxed a bit. "Absolutely."

"And did we not do all that together, you and me?"

Sitting back up, Tintin regarded his friend. "Of course, couldn't have done it without you."

The older man smiled tenderly back. "There ya go, son. We will get through this, you and I. Like I said, will take time. But when the world's spinning madly and all hell's broken loose, know this." The Captain leaned forward until his forehead rested against Tintin's and they were looking eye to eye.

"I will always be here for you. You don't have to control that. Any more than ya need to control the sun rising and setting or anything else for that matter. Here I am, here I stay. Got that?"

Flinging his arms around his friend and hugging him close, Tintin didn't need to answer. He got it. His heart expanded as one more constricting piece within him shattered.

...

…


	10. One Important Fact

Ahhh, looks like our boy's going to make it...

...

It did take time. But within a week, he had accompanied the Captain on a short drive around the countryside.

He no longer locked himself in his room and he ate every meal with the older man. Once more they shared their evenings in the library, reading companionably, speaking easily about whatever subject came to mind.

With Tintin's permission they had called the doctor in to alter the youth's sleeping medication and soon Tintin was able to get through entire nights without waking in trembling fear. Or without feeling like a zombie the next day.

The few times he was feeling restless before bed and knew the sleeping pill wasn't strong enough to keep the nightmares away, he made his way to a couch set up for him in Haddock's bedroom, there to spend the night knowing there was someone close by. Someone he could count on, someone who would protect him.

The first time they went in to town felt like a holiday. He kept glancing around at first, but no one pointed a finger at him. No one exclaimed how drawn he looked (as he had regained his usual sunny features); no one leered at him, no one gasped at his presence. No one announced him either a victim or a monster.

And he didn't feel he needed to keep his back up against anything, or keep glancing over his shoulder. Not with his friend accompanying him everywhere that his fancy took him.

It was so perfectly normal as to be incredibly refreshing. He had walked around the square feeling his self relax more and more, chatting with the vendors, inspecting their wares. He even sat for another portrait by the caricaturist that was always set up. He doubted if he could tell any difference if he placed this picture and earlier ones up side by side.

Driving back to Marlinspike Hall he had grinned at the Captain and chatted animatedly about everything he'd seen and done.

And when there were bad times, as there was to be, he just remembered the three things the Captain had told him, the three things he had in one way or another affirmed.

But there was something else that kept his head high and his spirits soaring.

He was loved. And there was nothing more important than that.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

Well, as promised I took the boy to hell and back, but I'm pretty sure Tintin's going to be just fine. Control can be such a strange thing - you think you're managing just fine without realizing you're actually spinning madly.

I purposely kept the real reason behind Tintin's need for control a secret until the very last and it looks like I did! Don't get me wrong, being raped is horrific enough, but I think Tintin would shelve that and deal with it later, but to kill a man would affect him greatly.

Thank you, thank you, thank you as always for the wondrous reviews. They're the jelly to my peanut butter!


End file.
